The Story Of Steve
by DAB-Poke
Summary: In short, a guy called Steve writes a story based loosely on Pokéshipping. For safety's (skunk) sake, please let me know if I should change the rating - currently at K
1. Chapter 1: STEVE!

**A/N:** First published FanFic. I will keep my interruption to a minimum, but in short, the story is essentially about a guy called Steve who writes a story loosely based on Pokéshipping. It may not seem very related to Pokémon at first, especially since I'm not using names yet, but things will make themselves clear as and when I carry on.

Also, Pokémon Black 2 and White 2 came out today! Got my sisters to pick up my copy of White 2 along with an exclusive DS pouch, wish me and my Pokémon fetish luck ;D

(12.10.2012, release of Chapter 1)

**The Story of Steve**

**Inspired by Phil (My Friends)**

I do not claim ownership to anything which isn't mine - end of.

* * *

**Prologue**

[6.59pm - Insert Steve here]

"Good night Smellanor!" said a middle-aged woman, tucking her daughter into bed and kissing her goodnight.

"Seriously Mummy! Why do you have to join in as well?"

Like all good girls, Eleanor would go to bed at a sensible time, i.e. 6.59pm precisely. And just like her fellow Smellanors in and around town, she would always have a massive tantrum before going to sleep... Oh wait, wrong story! :L

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Once upon a time, there was a guy called Steve. No, not at all related to the kid I was just talking about, but he's still Steve. Anyway, he woke up one morning and decided to write a story. But this wasn't to be your average "Once Upon A Time". Oh no, it was going to be deeper, greater and far more romantic. But first, he had to find some characters.

Steve got dressed, enjoyed a random quantity of some given cereal that I am not entitled to directly name as it relates to a friend (although based upon Weetabix), and took a short walk down to the town park. It was a beautiful setting, golden brown leaves scattered across the ground and a little brook babbling alongside, gently flowing into a roaring river. Steve had often a mental block taken a pleasure in his favourable bench, which bore a plaque in memory of his grandfather, the former town major. This time, however, there was a story to write.

As he seated himself upon his familiar perch, Steve gently closed his eyes and let the autumn breeze carry him away. A few minutes later, he reopened his eyes to find that a strange mist had formed around the fringes of the meadow, and the bench underneath him had vanished. After a split second, he fell backwards onto his bottom, but kept his mouth shut, as he heard noise coming from further along the path.

A young couple, probably only aged 16 or so, were having a rather loud argument. Steve turned to look, and saw that the most abuse was coming from a fiery redhead, part of her hair in a ponytail and the rest hanging loose to her shoulders. The other character, with messy black 'raven' hair and a red and white cap, was trying to protest, but the girl wouldn't take any of it.

A large, yellow mouse-like creature was perched on the boy's shoulder, and quickly turned it's head when it heard leaves rustling on the ground. Steve, having got up in extreme haste, saw the creature stick its tongue out at him and roll its eyes. He groaned and leant back against a tree, closing his eyes in the process. "How is this supposed to inspire me?"

A moment later, the shouting had stopped and Steve opened his eyes curiously. The young couple was still fighting, albeit in a more... romantic fashion. They were making out, lips locked to each other with no intention of letting go. Still, nobody else was in this 'mysterious dimension'. The 'mouse' had jumped off his partner's shoulder and was facing Steve, sticking its tongue out once more as if to say "You'd get used to it."

Suddenly, Steve had returned to reality. He was slumped backwards on the bench, eyes wide open, as he recalled what had just happened. As the scenery came flooding back to him, the man was enlightened. The characters, were sorted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

As Steve reclined in his comfortable leather chair (how many cows was it made of?), he switched on his new iMac supercomputer and it crashed... Again.

"For Pete's Sake!" Steve cursed as he reached round, attempting to find the power button that Apple had engineered to nanosize on the back. He could hear his back creaking as he duly switched the iMac back on, used to hearing the "Dooong" sound it emitted every time. As the machine returned to life, whooshing as the screen came on, Steve thought about the chain of events which had led him to this.

[Flashback]

"No no no no no, wrong, wrong, wrong. It's come to my attention that you're not measuring up.

You'll need to stay late... again... with no overtime. Your project has to be completely re-done. You can't seem to do anything right. Oh, I'm going to have to write you up again too. You're just not measuring up. That's three more demerits this week.

"Did you get the memo about the pay cut? 10% across the board, we've got to cut back, it's the bottom line you see... And your insurance coupees, yeah they're going up, better tighten your belt.

"We're merging with a bigger company, there's going to be one flavour ice cream, one brand of coffee, one car... There's 20 people waiting for your job. One third of Americans work for less than $8.50 an hour, get use to it, be happy with what you've got.

You'll have to play catch up on the weekend with no overtime pay of course.

"You're not meeting your quota; what's that you say? The quota's impossible to meet? Duh, here's how it works, I sit in my office, my corner office and I do some simple math. I look at other companies similar to ours, I get stats, I take a nap, I quote some numbers, and if the figures show it's only humanly impossible for a person to complete say 10 projects a week, I double it and that becomes your new quota, 20 projects a week. Simple, of course that's the whole point, gotta' keep you on edge.

"We'll give you some malarky about setting the mark high, meeting goals etc, but that's not the real reason. We've got to keep you in fear, fearful people develop low self esteem thus they'll never ask for a raise; what, you want a raise?"

Steve decided (he decided?) that this moment was perfect for a full-scale assault. He lost his rag against the man who he had quietly put up with for years, but he also lost any hope of finding a job ever again... [/Flashback - do you really want the gory details?]

And that was how his professional career had ended - but who cares about that? Steve groaned as he rolled his chair forwards and opened a new text document (not Word!) on his computer and began to type. A few minutes later, his frustration, anger and hormonal mood swings, which could be described as teenage once again got the priority on his meagre self. (Don't ask me why I had to use those words)

The victim this time was his old and trusty keyboard, which he had found thrown into a window long ago, while the so-called "Angry German Kid" was trying - and failing - to play Unreal Tournament. Banana peel and other assorted garbage had also arrived through this portal of magic.

If he had been thinking about that particular day at that particular moment, Steve would have been saying to himself "What a Meathead". But since he wasn't thinking, and probably hadn't been for a long time yet, this was not the case. The old keyboard situated on his desk thus became the latest victim of another tormented man, penetrating the realm of the same window it had entered through.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** reppad98, thanks for the support. I didn't name Ash and Misty in the first chapter but they will feature more prominently as the 'story-in-a-story' develops.

**Thought I'd continue the story for my 16th. What more can I say?**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

A little girl was playing with a mysterious creature in the beautiful town garden. She was small and had shoulder-length ginger hair. The green beast, however, it was a strange morph of an animal and a parasitic bulb. Frolicking together happily, the two were oblivious to the item which had been launched out of the window to the right of the square. As the keyboard impacted upon this unfortunately positioned girl, she cried out in shock. Steve heard this and dashed outside, seeing her curled up in pain. He was quick to attempt an apology, but she rose to her knees and swiftly cuffed the man's face, bursting into tears in the process.

"You meanie, why did you do that?!" she cried as the creature yelled a disgruntled "Bulba!"

"I genuinely mean it, I'm so sorry, I don't know what got into me, is there anything I can do?"

"Well for a start you could not throw stuff out your window!" the girl sniffed. Steve quickly replied "Look, I get really agitated sometimes especially since my life hasn't been going well recently. I'm trying to write a story but it's difficult for a guy as dull as me."

"I just wrote a story in school and it was top of the class, maybe I can help you sometime. My name is Dahlia but my friends call me Dahly, I'm 10 years old and I live in the house just opposite of yours!"

"Oh, well I'm Steve and I presume you know where I live, thanks to my flying keyboard... Are you feeling alright now?"

"Yeah but you'd better watch out next time. How old are you?"

"It's not usually polite to ask an adult their age but I don't mind _that_ much, I'm into my 30s. Actually, it's my birthday today."

"Happy Birthday mister, but that's old!" Dahly replied cheekily. Steve countered with "Oii, watch it missy or I'll be telling your parents!"

"No or I'll be grounded, it's my birthday too and I won't be able to play with Bulbasaur!" At her words the creature, which had previously been sitting quietly, looked up at Dahly and nuzzled her foot with a contented "Bulba"

"I'm joking, don't worry about it. Anyway, I need to get back inside as I'm going out later with friends. Ten's a good age, enjoy the rest of your birthday."

"You too mister, I'll se ya around!" Dahly finished.

And with that the two (three including 'Bulbasaur' - where had it come from..?) went their separate ways to enjoy the remaining hours of this special day.


End file.
